


From My Heart to Yours

by Saiainohito



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: All of the good stuff, Fluff, Love at First Sight, M/M, Peterick, Smut, happy little fanfiction, how to fall in love at once, pre-band (Fall out boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saiainohito/pseuds/Saiainohito
Summary: A happy little fluff piece on how to fall in love with Patrick Stump. By Pete.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	From My Heart to Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my best work, but it is something dear to me. 
> 
> This is dedicated to someone I care about more than words can say and I know what this pairing is for them, and for us. 
> 
> In a time where things are uncertain, there is always one thing that will be there and that is love.

**FIRST MEETING**

In downtown Chicago, the nightlife was in full swing. Lines cascaded out of different clubs and the chatter that floated up from those lines was a mixture of excited babble and drunken exclamations. There were many different lights that lit up the streets, cars raced through yellow lights and live music was playing on every corner. One corner was host to a bar by the name of _The Phoenix._ It was a fairly busy bar, full of packed tables and chatter while waitresses rushed through the seated guests to deliver plates of cheesy nachos and full pints of beer. In the dim lights, many of the guests were busy among their own conversations but there were a few eyes watching the small stage situated towards the back of the bar.

Unlike the clubs, this place was less busy and the music that flowed from those amps was not the high energy, electronic mess one would usually get from clubs. Instead, there was a couple up there – two acoustic guitars – and voices. Paired together in a twist of notes, vibratos and – _oh –_ off pitch words. _Yikes._ One man in particular who had been sitting with his friends, ignoring their bickering over what the _proper_ toppings of nachos were ( _absolutely not onion! Of course, onions! You’re crazy! You’re crazy!)._ His eyes were glued to the stage, watching as the couple were attempting to serenade the bar with a god-awful rendition of _Endless Love_. The man’s head was shaking slowly, and he visibly winced with each off-key shriek from the woman.

“Dude, Pete! Are you paying attention?” His friend called out to him and the man – Pete – was pulled out of his obsessive stare. Amber eyes refocused on his friends who all sat around the table, munching away on nachos that had gone cold hours ago and downing beers like they were shots. A small frown pulled his lips down and Pete let out a sign as the guys went on and on about something he just didn’t _care_ about.

“Right, uh…onions, right? Yeah, I gotta go with Joe. No onions on nachos.” The table erupted in more arguments. Good natured as they were, Pete was tired of how lout it was getting. There was a frustration bubbling in his brain that he had no reason to feel, but there it was clear as day. Of course, Pete was used to these random moments. His emotions were a mess and that was nothing new. He knew it. His friends knew it. Hell, everyone he worked with knew it. It was manageable, though.

“I’m just going to step outside for a sec, guys…” Pete mumbled before pushing himself out of his chair and forced his feet out the door. Outside of the pub, the air was lighter. There was a coolness that came with the autumn months and his breath came out in puffs of icy silver wisps. Pete groped around in his pockets until he found his phone. _11:15pm._ It was still considered early for his friends, but he was exhausted.

Moving over to a bench, Pete sat down and ran his fingers through his short blonde hair. The cool air was calming his nerves and even though he started shivering a bit in the cool air, he felt better. He was considering just going home, but he knew that it took a long time for his friends to drag him out into the public eye. After the disaster that ended Arma, Pete had wallowed in self-isolation for months. He was embarrassed and disappointed about his failure and felt like the world was judging him. He knew he was judging himself. The couple inside were so different. They didn’t care how awful they were because they were performing for themselves, not for the world. Still, it was unfortunate for Pete’s ears, who had to listening to them. He had to admire them for their dedication to the matter. He still couldn’t even consider going back on stage. Not after Arma. Not after the disaster that broke up the band and sent them all into a reclusive state, hiding from the public eye. He missed the stage, sure. He felt like his life had been traded in for one that was only half as great, but he still couldn’t bring himself to even pick up an instrument. The lyrics kept flowing and the words would never stop – he knew this. And yet…

Pete was pulled from his thoughts by the sweet sound of chords. Just behind him, sitting against the brick wall, a man sat quietly strumming on an acoustic that looked older than him. Pete turned in his seat, draping his arm over the back of the wooden slats and just watched as the music continued. They flowed so naturally – the chords fell one after the other – and then suddenly the man would pick a series of notes all at once. It was smooth – like Peanut butter, Pete thought, and licked his lips subconsciously. He was engrossed, watching the way the fingers flittered across the strings, pink from the cold but they didn’t stop. In perfect time, the notes and chords were hit, and it came out beautifully. It was a dedication that musicians had. Pete knew it well. They would do anything for the music – anything to have their soul _heard_ by somebody else. He didn’t recognize the song the man was playing, but the intensity of which he was playing it was enough to keep Pete focused in on each second of it.

_And then…_ Pete heard his voice.

_What I would do to get into your head_

_Crawl out my body into yours instead_

_Swim through your veins all day and every fiber_

_Raid your brain and all your desires_

Pete’s eyes widened and he watched the man in awe. His voice was remarkable and what was more – he hit each note perfectly. There was an attitude to his voice that came through the song, included some trills and _oh my_ , just when he thought it couldn’t get better….

_If you only knew_

_I would do anything_

_For a taste of you_

_I would do anything_

_Just to see inside_

_And no one else will do_

_All that I want is to be you_

Pete could feel his mouth hanging open but couldn’t help himself. This small man with pink cheeks, despite being wrapped up in a heavy coat and scarf, had a voice that carried. The notes he hit were remarkable and Pete was just…enthralled. Pete had himself draped over the edge, eyeing him wantonly as his ears took in each word. The song ended sooner than Pete would have liked, and then another started and then another. By the fourth, his fingers had nearly frozen, but he did not care. Over the songs, he had determined that he would speak to the man after the song was over. Of course, as soon as the song was over, and Pete had the courage, another song would start, and he would settle himself back down on the spot. Only the sudden call of Joe brought him out of his quiet observation.

“Pete! Pete, there you are! Thought you ran off on us, mate…” Joe stumbled over and collapsed onto the bench next to Pete. He smelled of beer and Pete suspected at least a pint or two had been spilled over him. The haze of his friend’s eyes betrayed his attempt to appear sober and Pete shook his head. On any other night, he would have been right with him. Together they would have stumbled through the streets in search of a cab long after the bars had closed. Now, Pete longed for nothing more than to be drunk on the music rather than the liquor.

“Joe, I’ve been here the whole time.”  
  
“Oh yeah? It’s fucking cold out here…. why the he- “His friend cut off as he saw the man past Pete, who was now packing up his guitar and casting glances towards the two men. He seemed to be a bit displeased by the sounds coming from Joe but said nothing. Pete himself was frustrated with the inebriation of his friend and how it seemed to scare away the young musician.

“Oh, I see…he’s cute. Have you gone over?” Pete shook his head and had to push Joe off of him as he leaned in drunkenly to whisper not-so-quietly to him.

“Fuck off, Joe. You’re drunk.”  
  
“So, what?”

“So you’re hanging off of me like some idiot in love.” That caused a snort of laughter from Joe, not hardly as attractive as the man seemed to think it way and got up once more.

“Whatever, Petey.” Pete grimaced at the nickname and sighed. “Come inside already and I’ll get you a beer.”

Pete hesitated and turned around. The young man was gone and even though Pete’s eyes glanced down the road and across it, could not see any sign of the blonde with the guitar. He wasn’t sure how a man and a guitar could disappear so quickly, and it frustrated him to no end that he had not got his chance to say something to him. The way the music had flowed from his fingers – the way his voice carried across the cold air – it left Pete feeling empty now that the music had stopped, and the man had disappeared.

Disappointed enough that he’d lost his opportunity, Pete returned back into the bar with his friend thoroughly attached to his arm, though the amber eyes looked over his shoulder time and time again to try and find the man in the crowd.

**THE UNEXPECTED RUN-IN**

Pete had taken up a new hobby of sitting in coffee shops. He didn’t do much but sip on cold coffee and stare out the window, though fingers grasped a pen that promised words but didn’t deliver. He’d been struggling lately, though he hated to admit it. Even after his band’s demise, the words had still flowed freely, though they were quite dark, sometimes depressing, and always hateful. Now, it seemed he had no words at all. This particular struggle had never affected him before and it was causing quite an issue with his nervous system. He felt jittery and detached, unable to connect with his emotions if he couldn’t write them down in one form or another. It was as if the creative force within him had been stolen, replaced only with the longing he’d had since the night at the bar.

It wasn’t exactly a normal thing to wish for a person you did not know. It was even stranger that he wished for his voice, more than anything. Pete had spent countless nights trying to write words – _anything –_ but the struggle had been going on for just as long as his longing. No matter what words came out of him, they were just not good enough. He wanted to write _for him._ He wanted to write words that would flow from the man’s lips as easily as they had that night, but this time…this time it would be _Pete’s_ words he would hear – or so he had hoped. The problem with this particular dream – or rather _problems_ – was that he could not come up with any words that were good _enough._ Everything that came from his mind was poor – leftovers and rotten food that should not dare touch those lips. Even if he was able to come up with the perfect lyrics – the most brilliantly poetic prose he could think of – he would not be able to deliver it. Pete had gone back to that pub every night, spent too much on overpriced food, and waited. He waited and stared out the window for the man to return, but he never did.

So here he sat, in the hopes that something would come to him that would be good _enough,_ though he was certain it would never come. Even now, the paper beneath his hand was empty, save for the odd doodle of the man. Pete remembered very little of his face, having been far too distracted by the musicality of his voice and hands. What he did know was that he was blonde, his round face had been pink from the cold and he had kept a thick knitted scarf around his neck the entire time. He was short – even when seated, it was clear as day. Of course, his doodles looked nothing like this man as Pete never cared much for drawing while his mind was not at ease.

Coffee in hand, he sat and watched. He watched the people passing by the coffee shop window in a hurry. Christmas was coming soon, though the snow that had started to fall melted before it connected with the ground. It still had many in the crowd detouring into the small shop for a warm drink and a bite to eat. Pete’s gaze followed over each of them, hoping that he’d catch sight of something – a story, perhaps – that he could create from. The world gave him nothing. A sudden flash of blonde caught Pete’s attention, but just as quick as he’d seen it, it was gone. Amber eyes darted back and forth through the crowd outside in a desperate attempt – _there it is again!_ The man’s short stature had him hidden amongst the rest and only so often would a break in the crowd come and show the man again. Skin just as pink as before – it was colder out now than it had been all those nights ago – he wore the same scarf as before and Pete instantly knew that this was him. This was _him._

Pete’s heart leapt into his chest as the door to the shop chimed and the being he’d longed for was now right in front of him. The long line had almost reached the door and Pete found that as the blonde rubbed his hands together to warm them up – they were once again without gloves – that he was beautiful. His skin was smooth and – _oh! –_ his eyes were the most brilliant shade of blue. Pete’s lips opened further as he stared at the man in awe. He could stare forever. The blue eyes turned to him and instantly narrowed and caused Pete’s heart to nearly rupture. Instantly, he sat up straight and struggled to recollect himself, nearly spilling his ice-cold coffee in the process.

“What are you staring at me for?” The man spoke, and Pete felt himself shudder. He tried to pass it off as a result of the breeze from the open door, but it was hard to pull it off when he was still looking at the man with such…. adoration. Of course, the blonde just returned it with a look of confusion and irritation. “Hello? Can you cut it out?” With a hand being waved in his face, Pete finally realized his error and cleared his throat.

“I-I’m sorry! I just…I saw you play the other night..” The blonde tilted his head, the irritation for a moment had disappeared from his face, though the confusion remained. “Outside of _The Phoenix._ You were incredible.” Almost instantly, the expression on the man’s face changed into a giant grin and Pete thought he might just die.

“Really? You think so?” Pete nodded almost too eagerly.

“Oh, fuck yeah. Are you kidding me? I’ve gone back a few times just to see if I could catch you there again.” Okay, so he wasn’t about to tell the man he’d gone there _every_ night. He didn’t want to seem like a stalker. At least, not yet. The blonde grimaced a bit and shrugged, shifting the scarf just a bit until his hand moved up to loosen it.

“Yeah, I don’t play there anymore. It was a busy enough place, but it just got too loud. People drinking and yelling at themselves, falling over…It didn’t really make for a great audience.” Pete nodded knowingly. Arma had mostly played in small venues and Pete had found that a drunk crowd was a cruel crowd. He wished he had more to say to the man, but the line was moving and before long he wasn’t even in front of him anymore. “Anyway, thanks for the compliment. I’ll see you around.”

Pete just nodded dumbly as he watched the line shift and the blonde got further and further away from him. He wished for words – he _pleaded_ for them – but they just became a jumbled mess stuck in his throat and made breathing very difficult. He quickly downed what was left of his cold drink in an attempt to calm himself when a thought came to him. Leaving his notebook and _useless_ pen behind, Pete hopped up and made his way towards the man. He was second in line now and still rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to warm them slightly before a _presumably_ warm drink would be between them. There were grumbles from the line as he surpassed them all to stand beside the blonde and almost too eagerly he touched his arm. He really should have predicted that the man would be startled, but the short, high little _yelp_ that escaped him was something Pete could never have been prepared to hear.

“Ah! I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” Pete took a small step back and held up his hands, though his face was split ear to ear and a grin. _That had been absolutely adorable._

“What are you doing?” The blonde asked pointedly, still resting one of his reddened hands against his chest. Pete felt his own face heat up in embarrassment and he shrugged a bit before he could stop himself and spoke.

“I was wondering if I could actually…buy you a coffee. I’d love to talk with you….”

That seemed to have put a stop to the blonde’s surprise and instead, it was replaced with something akin to Pete’s own embarrassment. The blonde stuttered for a bit before simply nodding. He seemed flustered and Pete wondered if this was the first time that anyone had done something nice for the man. It hardly seemed possible with how beautiful he was, but there was no other conclusion he could come to… _how poetic._ After a quiet mumble of a coffee order, Pete followed it with his own and handed over his card. Casting a quick glance towards the blonde, he thought before speaking up again, leaning in a bit so he could be heard over the now busy chatter in the shop.

“I’m Pete, by the way…” His eyes met with the blue orbs and his felt his breath catch in his throat but he pressed on. “Figured you should know my name since I’m dying to know yours…”

“Oh, uh…well, uh…I mean…” The stuttering came back and Pete just grinned more before the blonde muttered quietly.

“What? Sorry, I didn’t get that…”

“Patrick…My name’s Patrick.”

**AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT**

Pete had learned a lot about the other man during their time in the coffee shop that day. He was a student, living in the dorms of a nearby college while he took courses in literature. Of course, it was not what he was inclined to take but his family had wanted something a bit more sturdy for his career than music and as he’d explained, _at least this way it was still creative._ He’d also learned that while Patrick no longer played outside of _The Phoenix_ , he did play in a speakeasy every other week and did fairly well for himself there. Pete, of course, was thrilled to hear this and had basically demanded the address so that he could come here him play in a more intimate setting, to which Patrick happily obliged.

In the following weeks, they’d kept in touch mostly through texts, though the occasional call would come through whenever Patrick had time between classes. Pete found himself dropping whatever he was working on to answer these calls and even though they never lasted long, he felt like a new world was being opened up to him with each one. The words were starting to flow again, though Pete still felt they were lacking the proper substance to be given to Patrick. _Patrick._ A smile crept over his face every time he thought the name and it was hard to hide his joy from his friends. He was at the bar now with them, and they were arguing once again over food.

“Pizza should _never_ have Pineapple on it! Or fish for that matter!”  


“You could not be more wrong! Clearly your taste buds are just not well enough developed to appreciate such fine cuisine!”

“Insane! You are insane! How am I friends with you? Pete, weigh in here, would ya?”

Pete had been half listening to the argument, but as it continued on he’d been distracted by thoughts of Patrick. _Patrick._ Once again, the dreamy smile had grown on his face and did not go unnoticed by his uncivilized companions.

“Yo, earth to Pete! Come in Pete!”  
  
“Dude, is he high?”

“Yeah, right!”

“Fuck off, man! It’s possible!”

“Pete, are you high? Whadaya got? Why aren’t you sharing buddy?”

The banter had broken (reluctantly) out of his dreams and looked to his friends with a mixture of humor and displeasure. A look that only Pete could truly pull off, they would say. He’d thought often about bringing Patrick up to his friends, but in many ways, he appreciated having this as a secret just for himself. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of the man. It was very, _very_ far from that, in fact. He just enjoyed having Patrick all to himself and if he brought the blonde into his group of friends…he knew. He just _knew_ that they would either embarrass him to death or steal all of Patrick’s time away from Pete…. or _both._

“I’m not high, asshole.” Pete pushed off the hand they were slapping his cheek with in a faux attempt to ‘rouse him from his sleep’. He laughed it off and pushed them aside, but in the back of his mind, he still thought about Patrick. He wanted to see him again, but a student’s free time was short and hard to come by. He’d invited him out a few times only to be told he had to study, but there was a thought in his mind that had bugged him often. He’d even brought it up to Patrick once over the phone.

_“Why don’t I come by and see you play sometime at that place? I’ll even buy you a drink after.”_

_“Oh well, I’m not sure when I’m going to be playing there again…”_

_“Well, let me know when you do?”_

_“You don’t want to come by there. It’s quiet and it’s mostly students. It’s not really your scene._

_“You’ll be there, right? So of course, it’s my scene.”_

_There had been silence on the other end of the call for a while after that and Pete wondered if he’d pushed too hard or said something wrong. He was just so eager, but perhaps that scared the man. Maybe he didn’t think of Pete as much as Pete thought of Patrick. Was he coming on too strong? Probably. Would he stop? He wasn’t really sure he’d be able to._

_“Fine, Pete. Next time.”_

_“Promise?”_

_“I promise.”_

Pete had thought about that phone call a lot since then. Nearly a week ago they’d had that conversation and it was starting to dawn on Pete that Patrick might not be single. Perhaps when he had first talked to Pete in the coffee shop, he had done so out of politeness towards a supposed fan and not the crush-ridden asshole that Pete truly was. Perhaps, now that he had been talking with Pete, he realized how Pete felt and was trying to distance himself. That thought hurt him, even though he still knew so little about the man. It hurt.

“Pete! Pete, stop spacing out!”

“Huh?” Pete looked back up at his friends sheepishly and blinked his eyes a couple of times. “What is it?”

“Your phone is going off, man! Wake up!” A quick glance down at his phone told him that yes, it was indeed ringing. What was more, it was _Patrick_ calling him. _Patrick._ “Who’s Patrick?”

Pete didn’t answer, though he gave his friends an eyeroll. Grabbing his phone, he answered quickly as he stood up and grabbed his coat. It was far too loud in the bar for him to properly hear what that beautiful voice was saying.

“Hold on, ‘trick. Just lemme get somewhere quiet.”

It took a bit of weaving and avoiding drunken patrons before Pete finally managed to make it outside. The cold air hit him like an iceberg and he inhaled sharply through his teeth as he quickly pulled his coat on. _Fucking freezing._ Pete held the phone up to his ear and made his way over to the familiar bench before having a seat.

“Hey, you. Long time, no talk…what’s up?” It was so nice to hear Patrick’s voice on the other end of the phone again that he almost missed what the man was excitedly saying into his ear. “Sorry, can you repeat that?” Patrick laughed on the other end of the line and Pete’s heart couldn’t stop flipping at the sound.

“I _said_ , I’m filling in for someone tonight. Performing, I mean. If you wanna…come see?” Patrick sounded nervous, but Pete was still smiling his ass off at the invitation. The thought of seeing Patrick again was second to only one thing – hearing him sing. The man had a voice like liquid gold and every time he thought about it made his fingers twitch. More than anything Pete wanted to write for him. He wanted to develop some sort of sonnet, a ballad…a god damn rock opera for him to perform, but nothing was ever good enough. Sure, he carried around his notebook like it was glued to his side, but nothing consequential ever came to be.

“Hell yeah, I want to see! I’m on my way now. I just have to wrap something up here first.” Already Pete was up and heading back towards the pub, eager to pay his tab, say goodbye to his dumbass friends and be on his way.

“Okay, I’m just sitting at the table in the back corner. It’s a little dark so if I see you, I’ll wave.”

“Sounds good, ‘trick. See you soon.”

Pete hung up quickly and dove back into the mess that was his table. The group had given up on the argument of pizza and were now happily devouring a rather large pizza between them. It looked delicious, but Pete had places to be and gorgeous vocalists to see.

“Guys, I’m heading out. Here’s some cash for my tab.” He placed a twenty down on the table but stopped when they all stared at him in a way he couldn’t quite describe. _God damnit, the words will never come, will they?_ “What?”

“Some guy calls you and suddenly you’re heading out? Sounds like Petey has a date!” Pete scowled at the nickname but just shook his head. He’d let them believe whatever they wanted to believe, but there was a part of him that hoped they were right. He hoped that by the end of the night, he’d be giving Patrick a kiss and things would be different. _The best kind of different._

“Whatever, guys. See you around.”

**THE INVITATION**

The speakeasy was not what Pete had been expecting. For one, he didn’t realize by the address that the place was on campus. When he arrived, it had been a bit of a surprise and he found himself standing out amongst a large group of academics. Covered in tattoos and a mess of bleached hair, he felt like a thorn in everyone’s side, but it wasn’t exactly an uncommon feeling. Pete often did not fit in, but he’d found it was better to be out of place than lost in a crowd, so he’d come to love it. It took him longer than he’d have liked to find Patrick but when the blonde waved him over, Pete only took seconds to find his seat next to the other. Unlike the bar, this place was far quieter. There were students playing darts and chatting amongst themselves, but most of them were listening intently to a poet who was up on the tiny makeshift stage which consisted of only a stool and a microphone. There were no theatrics here. It was all about the art. Pete fucking loved that.

“Thought you’d never get here..” Patrick’s voice caught him by surprise, as it was more of a whisper. He felt the man’s lips on his ears and it sent a shudder through his body. Pete didn’t know why he was speaking to him so close. It wasn’t loud enough in here for it to be required but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. Pete had an urge to wrap his arm around the smaller man and pull him further into his side, but he resisted the urge as hard as he could and focused on the words Patrick had said to him.

“Traffic was bad….” His cab had hit every fucking red light the one night he wanted to get somewhere quickly. He’d always had fairly shitty luck with cabs. On more than one occasion, he’d lost his phone, wallet, keys or liquor in a cab. He’d gone through three phones in a year because of his inability to keep track of things, but it was especially bad in cabs.

Pete was trying to focus on the words of the poet, but quickly realized that he didn’t care much for what the man was saying. It wasn’t that it was poorly written. In fact, it was very well done, but the topic was far more morose than Pete cared to hear. A story of unrequited love, poverty sickness and death. It was hard to hear and found himself in need of a distraction. His eyes glanced sideways to Patrick, who despite having not said anything further, had not moved away from Pete. Their thighs were touching ever so slightly and where Patrick’s hand was resting, the tips of his fingers were just _barely_ touching Pete’s own thigh. For a while, Pete just watched Patrick’s hand where it was, relaxed and lightly drumming against his own leg, though every so often one of his fingers would tap against Pete’s leg. He had no idea if it was on purpose or not, being just so often that it could easily be a mistake. He hoped to whatever power was out there that it was _not_. Maybe, just maybe, if he hoped hard enough, he’d have a chance.

“What’s this?” Patrick’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and when he looked up again, Patrick was looking through his notebook. _His_ notebook. The notebook with all the messed-up lines and scratched out thoughts that had come out of Pete’s disaster of a mind. Every little thing he’d written for Patrick deemed terrible or not good enough was now open on the table and being read over by Patrick. Pete’s entire body froze as he took in the situation and his throat went dry.

“That…those…I…” It was his turn to stutter, not able to come up with an answer to explain what Patrick was looking at. He should be angry that the blonde had decided to look without asking, but he just couldn’t bring himself to harbor any bad feelings towards the blonde. He was too…. _Patrick._ The thought calmed him a bit and even though he was shaking, he reached out and brushed his fingers against Patrick’s as he stopped him from flipping the pages anymore.

“Well, they’re…just things I write. Sometimes they’re songs, or poems, or just…journaling. I don’t know…I used to write a lot of lyrics, but lately nothing has seemed right.” _All of this was for you. All of it. Do you like it? Do you love it? Do you see what I’ve done for you? Do you see how I feel now?_

“Pete, this is pretty incredible work. Have you ever done anything with it?” Shocked into silence, Pete shook his head. He didn’t want to bring up the disaster that was Arma or how the end of it had caused a pit in his stomach he still hadn’t been able to get rid of despite many sleepless nights. Nothing he’d written since the end of his band had been good enough to consider pursuing music again – not until he’d seen Patrick perform that night. Everything after that moment had been a desperate attempt to create something so unique, so special…so _Patrick._ He just couldn’t make it work.

“Well, that’s too bad. I mean, you really should. You could go up tonight and do something with it?” Patrick’s hopeful gaze had Pete caught in a place where he couldn’t speak, but he just shook his head again and looked down.

“It’s not ready.” There was nearly a minute of silence before Patrick spoke again.

“Okay.”

**AN OPEN DOOR**

The show had been incredible, and hearing Patrick’s voice again brought a renewed since of hope and Pete for the first time felt that he could write something _good._ Patrick had offered to help him, and while Pete still hadn’t confessed his band, he eagerly took the offer. With such a talent as Patrick, whatever came from between them was certain to be far better than anything he’d created for Arma. So, once a week, they got together at Pete’s place to write. In a way, Pete was pleased that he was now important enough for Patrick to prioritize their time together over the various other things he could have done in his free time. Patrick was starting to really _see_ him, or at least, that was how it felt. Someone with such a strong talent could easily have passed over Pete and he wouldn’t have even been able to argue it. It was just the way life was sometimes. Now, Patrick was strumming along on a guitar while he read over some of what Pete had written. He felt like he was sitting there naked, waiting while Patrick judged every part of himself. His words were personal and in many ways an expression of a part of himself he didn’t share with the world.

“Pete, this is great. You really have something here…” Their eyes met and Pete smiled a bit. There was always something about Patrick that calmed the nervous voices in his head that threatened him. _You’re not good enough._ None of those voices mattered when Patrick was looking at him with that…what was that look? _Awe._ It was the same look that Pete had been giving him the first time he’d watched him perform, and again when they’d met in the coffee shop. Pete didn’t know what to do about it. That look…the way that Patrick _just looked_ at him was enough to have him falling.

Pete wanted to kiss him. He’d been wanting to for a while, but the time had never been right. Patrick was such a far-off goal every time they’d been together, but today – right _now­_ – he was sitting there _looking at Pete_ with eyes that said he wanted to kiss him, too. With those pouty, talented lips parted in just the right way that Pete’s own would fit right in. He wanted to kiss him so badly that he didn’t even realize he’d been leaning in (or _staring_ ) until Patrick spoke up again.

“Here, listen to this…” Of course, Patrick had long since gone back to working on their project while Pete’s mind had been racing – hoping – and _longing._ Now here he sat, almost leaning on the blonde as Patrick held the guitar in his hands and strummed. When his voice floated out again, it was an entirely new experience because this time, it was Pete’s own words…and they were _perfect._

_I don't know where you're going,_

_But do you got room for one more troubled soul_

_I don't know where I'm going,_

_But I don't think I'm coming home_

_And I said, I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead_

_This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end_

Every breath Patrick took and every note he hit as he sang the words left Pete in even more of a mess. Those words he had written…. they were the most private at all. A silent prayer to himself that maybe someday he would have the strength – the audacity – to confess his feelings to Patrick. So of course, when Patrick had gone through his notebook and Pete was busy staring at Patrick, _this_ was the page he’d landed on. Pete should have been embarrassed. He should have been worried that Patrick would find out. He should have been overwhelmed and fearful, but all he could be was enthralled. Here was Patrick with his golden voice, singing Pete’s words back to him and everything about it was just _perfect._ All the struggle had been worth it for just this one moment when the pieces fit into place. This was the piece that Pete had been missing for so long. _Patrick was the missing piece._

“Pete? Pete, are you okay? Did you not like it?” Patrick’s voice pulled him from his thoughts; a rather common occurrence since he met the man. It took a second before the grin on his face appeared, but he just didn’t have the words. Shaking his head, Pete just let out a breath and stared at the other. _Awe._

“Pete?”

And he did it. Just in that moment, with Patrick looking at him in confusion and _nervousness_ , Pete couldn’t wait anymore. This man, with this talent, was just as nervous about showing it as Pete was about giving up his words. This _beautiful_ man had no idea the power that he held, or the fact that he now had Pete wrapped around his finger like a fucking yoyo. It was all of this that broke the barrier and Pete just couldn’t hold back anymore. It only took seconds for their lips to meet, and almost instantly Pete heard the surprised sound come from Patrick. His hand instantly reached up to cup the other’s face in fear that he would pull away…. but he never did. The pressure in the kiss was actually _returned_ by Patrick and Pete’s heart nearly arrested. Lips melded together with a fervent energy that neither one of them could stop. Between the passion of creating art and the passion in their hearts, breathing didn’t even seem to be a second thought. Pete felt eager hands on his chest, tugging at his shirt, and there was a moment of shock before his brain kicked in and he pulled it off. The guitar was set aside before Pete was on Patrick again. Their lips twisted together in perfect communication while hands explored each other’s bodies. Pete didn’t even notice when it happened, but it didn’t take long to have Patrick under him, pressed into the couch by his slowly grinding hips and it took him only a second longer to feel Patrick’s own meeting his movements.

Had Pete stopped for even a second to think, he might have stopped. He’d been done this road before where a spontaneous hook-up had ended in lost friends, but this seemed…different. It was needy, but it was also _warm._ It was desperate, but it was also _welcoming_. Patrick was welcoming Pete into his space – into his _body_ – just as Pete had opened up his soul to him. The next minutes were a mess of hands, clothes and touch. Pete found a little spot on Patrick’s neck that had him creating this beautiful little sounds he could listen to all night. A whole different kind of music that Patrick alone could create, and Pete was assisting in the best possible way. Clothes were removed, and it seemed all too soon that Pete was fully buried into the other man, overwhelmed by the heat and the tension and _the way that Patrick was looking at him._

The vocalist’s nails were digging into his back as his hips started to move and Pete soon found a pace. The stinging of his nails drove him onward and between the breathless kisses and moans, neither one of them was going to hold out for long. Pete’s hands quickly trailed up Patrick’s arms and grabbed his wrists, easily pinning them beside his head on the couch. Their fingers entwined, and Patrick’s grip tightened. His face scrunched up and a choked cry came from him as warmth spread across both of their chests and Pete was soon following, pausing deep within the man beneath him.

It took time before the two men were able to catch their breath and when Patrick’s gaze found Pete’s, he swore he might just die. A dreamy smile came over his face and he released one of the man’s hands to gently caress his cheek.

“Hey…”

**THE PRESENT**

Tonight, was the night of the show. The two of them were nervous, but excited. It was time to show off the song that was _finally_ ready. It had taken some time before the two of them felt it was ready, but it couldn’t be put off any longer. They were proud of their work (whenever It was they got real work done) and it was time to show off. They were on their way out the door when Pete stopped them and tugged Patrick close to him.

“Hey, uh…before we go…I have something for you.” Patrick stopped at that and tilted his head in confusion…and curiosity.

“Do you now?” Pete caught the little smirk on his lips and couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, ‘trick…well, actually don’t cause I’ll take full advantage of that once we’re back at my place.” Pete grinned as the comment did just as he’d hoped, and Patrick’s face flushed a bright red. Taking the moment’s advantage, he pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it over to the other. “Just a little early Christmas gift…” The look Patrick gave Pete could kill. They’d said no gifts this Christmas as they had only just gotten together, but Pete couldn’t resist this one little temptation. The box was unwrapped quickly, pretty green paper falling to the floor already forgotten as Patrick pulled out a pair of fuzzy gloves that matched his scarf in color.

“’Trick, you’re always outside without gloves, but your hands are just as important as your voice you know…I want you all safe and warm…” It was a small thing, but something he’d noticed from the very first time he’d seen Patrick. “The tops come off too, so that you can place with them still on.”

“You, Mr. Wentz, are an ass for giving me a gift when I didn’t get you anything…” Patrick pouted as he looked up at his boyfriend, though there was a small smile on his lips. “But I’ll forgive you since this was so sweet…”

**TOGETHER**

Pete had a spot off to the side of the small stage, a drink in hand, as he waited for the show to start. The place was packed, and his friends sat next to him, quiet for the first time in forever. They had met Patrick earlier that night and already loved him. Pete was a bit sad that he had to share Patrick’s attention now, but the way the smaller man clasped his hand through the whole night had him feeling much calmer about it.

“I’m going to go check on him.” He muttered before disappearing into the back room. Patrick was there, pacing a bit as he waited for his turn to go on. Pete took a few quick strides and quickly had the man in his arms. Patrick almost instantly relaxed, the stress and anxiety leaving his body with a soft sigh.

“You’re going to do great. They’ll love it.”

Together, they went out and Pete took his seat once more as Patrick took the stage. Amber eyes watched in awe as Patrick too his seat and smiled out at the crowd. He’d been bringing in such a large crowd the last few times that the venue had upgrade and gotten a full set of amps. They were even paying Patrick now, after a good talk between Pete and the owner.

“Hey, guys. Uh…got this rad new song for you. Wrote it with my boyfriend and we’re pretty excited it’s finally ready…uh, yeah…hope you like it.” Pete grinned widely at the short introduction and didn’t miss the way that Patrick’s face went red at the mention of his _boyfriend._ What a difference a month makes.

As Patrick started singing, he heard his friends gasp and couldn’t help the smirk on his lips. _Yeah, exactly._ The whole place was silent as Patrick started, but once the guitar started, a cheer erupted. He felt a familiar flip in his chest and watched his boyfriend proudly from his seat. The chorus started and the atmosphere in the room only got brighter. Patrick brought that to the stage every time and Pete felt it more and more each time he watched him perform.

_Say, yeah_

_Let's be alone together_

_We could stay young forever_

_Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs_

_Say, yeah_

_Let's be alone together_

_We can stay young forever_

_We'll stay young, young, young, young, young_

Pete didn’t know where they were going, but he felt something shift in this moment and knew it would be big.


End file.
